A Game of Betrayal
by aTreeCat
Summary: Yamamoto has been chosen by a mysterious organization to betray the Vongola famiglia in the guise of a game. How will he play this "game", so similar to the mafia "game", where the lives of his friends and family hang in the balance? (set TYL; no pairings) [very likely DISCONTINUED]
1. Setting Up The Game Board

A Game of Betrayal

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

* * *

"Is it one of these two?" A short, pudgy finger hovered over the faces of two young women– a blonde and a brunette. The low, gravelly voice that accompanied it was excited, like a child about his surprise birthday present. "Women must be pretty easy to manipulate."

"We have considered that, but neither has the skills required to last very long in your game." The man beside him reported in a silky formal tone, punctuated with nasally vowels. "Since you inquired about two at the same time, you have three chances left."

"Oh phooey." The childish petulance did not match the deep, booming baritone. "I'm your boss. You should give me more chances."

"I can't, sir. You set the rules yourself, and one of which was that I can not give you any more chances no matter how much you plead."

"You're no fun."

"You said that it would not be fun if you had an unlimited number of guesses."

"Fine then. Her." His finger moved an inch to the right, just above another woman, this time with purple hair and an eye-patch. "She's a woman and has a ring. And a tough looking eye-patch."

"She is an illusionist. It would be too hard to control her."

"Hmph. Then him." He moved his finger over a young boy with wild hair. "The baby cow. He has a ring and he looks easily frightened."

"That is incorrect again, sir. _Because_ he is too easily scared and overly spoiled, it would be impossible for him to hide any secrets– everyone would notice if he were to act differently." He then paused to add the dramatic effect that his boss loved so much. "You have one chance remaining."

A determined smile spread across the boss's thick lips– the look of a boy resolved to conquer the next level of a video game. "I will get it this time!" He brought the picture closer to his face to examine it, then closed his eyes.

His eyes flew open and his smile widened threateningly. His subordinate resisted the urge to take a step back.

"It's him isn't it. He looks perfect for the position." His finger left a shadow across the image of a dark haired young man, one arm slung around the shoulders of another man shorter than himself, the other flashing a peace sign at the camera; his eyes crinkled at the corners, laughing as if he were without a care in the world.

"As expected of you, sir. You knew from the very beginning, didn't you." It was more a statement to flatter his childish boss than a question.

"Of course. But it wouldn't be fun if I got it on the first try." He giggled, a low echo that made the hairs on the back of the other's neck stand. "Now will you tell me why exactly he, of all of the Vongola _famiglia,_ was chosen to be my next playmate?"

The man cleared his throat before responding, trying to dislodge his instinctive fear. "Yamamoto Takeshi. Age 24. Considered one of Vongola's top two swordsmen. The Decimo's left-hand man with access to all but the most classified files. Has a single father– previously a freelance hitman before settling down in a peaceful town with his family. Whereabouts of mother unknown– presumed dead. Strong filial bond with father. Normally inexpressive of his feelings, instead hiding behind a smile. Seems simple minded but has a good intuition. Shall I go on?"

"I think I've got it: he has the Decimo's trust, can lie, _and_ we will have leverage over him if we capture his father." His eyes darkened with pleasure. "Oh how I _love_ a good game of betrayal!"

* * *

 _Chapter 1: Setting Up the Game Board_

* * *

As soon as he ended the call, Yamamoto Takeshi ran. He ran out of his room, past Tsuna's grand office, down the curving staircase, and toward the open field in the back of the Vongola mansion, where the private jets were held in a hangar. By the time he arrived, he was panting heavily, having sprinted full speed the whole way. He took a few deep breaths– partially to even out his breathing, partially to clear his head of his rampaging thoughts– then set out the find the next available pilot who could take him back to Japan.

After wandering around the hangar for nearly five minutes, he finally bumped into who he was looking for. "Yo, Inoue!" he called out.

Inoue looked up from the plane he was polishing. "Hi there, Yamamoto-san! Need to go somewhere?"

"Yep! Back to Namimori!" Yamamoto smiled, repressing the anxiety he was feeling. "Soon as possible."

"Sure thing! But Irie-san said that he needed to examine all of the flame-fuel jets, so all that are left are the old combustion engine planes." Inoue started toward the back of the hangar, where the old models and prototypes were kept, and Yamamoto followed. They stopped in front of a plane with wide, broad wings and tail and a compact body. "Hm, this might do."

Yamamoto looked over the aircraft. He didn't know much about planes, but he trusted Inoue's judgement. Ever since he had saved the young pilot from an accident on the day of his pilot license testing three years ago, Inoue Tamaguchi had dedicated his life as well as his passion and knowledge of flying to the Vongola family. If Inoue said the plane was good, the plane was good. "So how long will it take, do you think?"

"At full throttle, upwards 10 hours?" Inoue walked around to the other side of the plane to examine the fuel levels. His mouth broke into a wide grin. "Sweet! Nevermind the previous estimate– I thought they had trashed all of the prototypes, but I guess they left this one intact!" Upon seeing Yamamoto's confusion, he quickly added, "A flame-fuel converter. With this baby, even if it's just a prototype, it will only take 7-8 hours. No, with your flames as an added boost, it will only be 6 hours tops."

Yamamoto didn't really understand– he guessed that it was something like the motorbikes from the other future– but he nodded and grinned back at the enthusiastic aviator. As long as it took him to Japan quickly, it was fine. "Sounds good. When will you be ready?"

"Five minutes," was the fading reply, as the other disappeared to finish preparations.

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi sat in his office, sipping at his coffee while staring at the mounds of papers in front of him, fighting off the mid-day sleepiness. He thought he had heard pounding footsteps from outside his door earlier, but quickly dismissed them as insignificant– most likely just Lambo storming into the kitchen looking for comfort food after a tutoring session with his new tutor or Ryohei on his way to an early afternoon workout.

When his office phone rang, he absent-mindedly picked it up, still envying the freedom of his Guardians to scurry about, free of paperwork.

"Yo, Tsuna!"

"Yamamoto?" He thought his Rain Guardian was still in his room looking over his next mission assignment. So why was he calling when his room was only a few doors down? And was that a hint of anxiety in his normally calm friend's voice?

"Tsuna, I know this is sudden, but I'm headed toward Namimori right now."

Tsuna shook his head to clear the fluffy wool of sleep from his mind. "Namimori? Why?"

"I got a call from an old neighbor, saying that he heard an explosion at my old man's place. When he went to check it out, my dad wasn't there. I don't know much more than that, but I have a bad feeling about this…" the voice trailed off into uncharacteristic silence. "Either way, Hibari-san will probably update you when he finds out more. For now, I'm heading over to check things out."

Tsuna snapped awake– attack? In Namimori? Was Yamamoto-san ok? What about his mother? How did they get past Hibari's sentinel? When will he stop thinking in questions? He shook his head again, his hair stinging his eyes when they met. Finally focused, he said, "Mm, I understand. You should go check on your dad."

"Thanks, Tsuna." There was a pause, as if Yamamoto was about to hang up. "Oh yeah, and sorry about that other mission. The files are still in my room if you need them."

Ever his reliable Rain. At least, reliable about serious business– he would still fool around like a kid with the other Guardians. "Don't worry about it. I'll send Onii-san out instead. He's been bored with the lack of missions lately."

"Haha, sounds like Ryohei alright! Oh, looks like I've gotta go now. Bye Tsuna!"

"Take care!" Tsuna managed to say before the line clicked, cutting of their connection.

Immediately after he had returned the phone to its cradle, it rang again. He considered just letting it ring for a while just out of spite– a harmless way to take out the pent-up anger and frustration from his paperwork– but realizing that he was expecting a call from Hibari, he quickly picked up.

"Hel–"

"Where's the herbivore?"

Tsuna sighed. He should have been used to getting cut off by his impatient Cloud Guardian by then, but it was exasperating nonetheless. "Yamamoto? He just left for Namimori."

"Hmph. When will he get here?"

"Umm… if he took the newest model of the flame-fuel jet Shoichi-kun and–"

"Get to the point."

"Yeah, um, 3 to 4 hours?"

"Fine."

And the line went dead. _HIIEEE?_ Was that it? Tsuna still sometimes felt that Hibari was his boss, not the other way around, with the way their conversations carried out. But he held his breath and quickly redialed.

"What." Hibari snapped, sounding even more irritable than before.

Tsuna exhaled, letting the flames flow through him, sharpening the world around him, and put on his most serious tone. "What happened?"

There was a pause, as if Hibari was considering whether the question was worth an answer. He must have hear the deep timbre in his boss's voice, for he didn't immediately hang up. After a few thoughtful moments, he replied, "There was an explosion at the sushi shop, Takesushi. When we went to investigate, the elder Yamamoto was gone. The explosions seem to have been caused by Storm flame-infused dynamite. A note was taped to the refrigerator."

Tsuna waited for Hibari to continue, his head spinning with the implications.

"It was a ransom note. 12 hours from now at the Fish House. Alone."

Hibari was too proud to ask for instructions, but Tsuna still heard the silent inquiry: _Should he intervene?_

"See how Yamamoto responds. I entrust this situation to him." He paused, twiddling the phone cord. "But maybe watch from the distance if he needs backup."

Having sensed that Tsuna was done with him, Hibari hung up, leaving Tsuna to his thoughts. It wasn't just Yamamoto who was picking up uneasy vibes; Tsuna also felt prickles of worry down his spine. Hibari's presence in Namimori offered a strange comfort, but he knew if he was to entrust anyone to handle the situation, it would be Yamamoto. His good friend and faithful Guardian, Yamamoto Takeshi.

* * *

"The game has been set up, sir."

"Oh goody. Can we play now?"

"We have to wait until the other player arrives."

"Harumph. But I'm bored _now_."

The man stiffened. "Y-Yes, sir. Then we shall provide a little side quest."

"Yippee!" The boss clapped giddily. "Who am I versing?"

"A very strong man with a one track mind."

"What's the objective? And the rules? Are there any rules?"

"Of course, sir. You are to set up the field in a manner that will keep the other player distracted for an hour. The time limit is eleven hours to plan and execute. You are also limited to whatever supplies can be found in our base or in the town of Namimori."

"Oh… a strategy game. But those hurt my head."

"Just bear with it, sir. If you succeed, you will be able to have more fun with your other playmate."

"Really? I guess I'll have to think a little, then. Just an hour, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

A/N: I know, nothing much happened. More will happen next chapter and beyond, so just think of this as a prologue if it makes you feel any better.

Any and all questions and/or suggestions, whether for plot, characterization, grammar, etc. are welcome. Comments are nice too :)

Next chapter will be more Yamamoto-centric.


	2. Players and Characters

A Game of Betrayal

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

* * *

Almost as soon as Yamamoto stepped into Namimori, he had to duck to avoid a flying tonfa in the face.

"Hibari-san!" he returned the cordial greeting with a disarming smile.

"Being late is against Namimori policies." Hibari jumped down in a flash of black from the rooftop he was perched upon. He held his remaining tonfa in the 'I'll bite you to death' stance.

"Haha, sorry about that. We had to use a prototype fuel thingy, but I got here as quickly as I could."

"Hmph. Don't be late again, or I will bite you to death."

"Hai, Hibari- _senpai_!" Yamamoto said teasingly, touching upon their student lives of long ago. Hibari glowered. "So what's the current situation?"

In answer, Hibari turned around and started to stalk down the familiar street that led to Takesushi. Yamamoto followed at a distance– he didn't want Hibari to think that he was crowding.

As they walked, Yamamoto noted the slight differences since the last time he had visited, almost three years ago: the park where he played baseball a few times as a kid had sprouted a new swing-set; the candy shop at the corner was advertising a new lollipop flavor– red bean– that he wondered if Lambo or I-pin would like; the Himura house was now a royal indigo, recently painted by the looks of it.

He filled his mind with anything but thoughts of what lay ahead– years of experience had taught him that it was easier that way. Easier to shelve his apprehensions in the back of his mind than to worry about all the possibilities. Gokudera was better at that kind of stuff- simulating and preparing for those millions of maybes– so Yamamoto left it up to him. Instead, Yamamoto met the unknown with a smile and a sword– that was his style.

Admittedly, he was more than a bit worried when he first got the notice about his father's disappearance, but now that he was on his way to do something, anything, about the situation, he felt his muscles loosen in anticipation. And besides, his dad and the kid– no, Reborn had become adult-sized after a growth spurt, at least that's what Tsuna told him– had taught him to always be aware of his surroundings.

But Yamamoto didn't seem to have heeded their lessons very well, as he nearly walked into Hibari, who had stopped and fixed him an angry glare for their proximity. Nor did he notice that they were almost at Takesushi– he must have been more worried than he'd thought to be caught so unawares. And the bad feeling he had hadn't gone away– in fact, it was starting to grow into a persistent itch at the back of his mind.

Caught up in his confusing array of thoughts, he barely registered that he had lifted his hand to block a burst of silver from his left side.

"–you listening now?"

He looked in mild surprise at the tonfa he had caught on impulse, then at its owner. Hibari narrowed his eyes at him, mouth twisted in a deep scowl. Yamamoto let go of the weapon and eased out the smile that he knew he must have lost some time ago, "Sorry, what did you say?"

Hibari gave him a long look– he'd always wondered what Hibari was always thinking about when he was that serious– and Yamamoto blinked. "Just go." He tilted his head almost imperceptibly toward the direction of the sushi shop.

With a nod, Yamamoto clasped a hand on the other's shoulder. When he felt Hibari tense, he immediately released his hand before it could get bitten off. "Maa, Hibari-san. It's just a way of saying thanks. Be glad I didn't give you an Italian greeting earlier!" Yamamoto smiled cheekily before striding away. He thought he heard the Cloud muttering curses about Italians and threatening to bi–

But the rest of the words faded out, replaced with a faint buzzing as he caught a glimpse of a something through the swirling mist. The sight of a broken Takesushi, like the seeing Tsuna take a bullet to the shoulder for him, sucked up the air around him, leaving slightly woozy yet angry and more resolute than before.

But even more than that, seeing Takesushi– his home for nearly two decades– reduced to barely more than rubble left a certain ache that tugged at his heart. Only half the first floor had remained upright; the other half, along with the entire second story, had either collapsed or turned to cinders in the explosion. The signature scorch marks of Storm flames, probably infused with the dynamite, marred the once white walls. Most of the tables were flipped over, the chairs toppled onto their sides. The counter and kitchen were left mostly intact, and so, surprisingly, was a picture frame that hung next to the kitchen door.

All the while, he could feel Hibari's gaze burning his back, but he didn't turn around. He couldn't. He was afraid of what he would do the moment he tore his eyes away from the desolate sight– he just knew that it would be something the ever-smiling, easygoing Yamamoto wouldn't normally do.

Instead, Yamamoto shuffled over to the picture frame, broken ceramic crunching under his feet. The glass glazing was covered in a layer of soot, but he knew exactly what lay underneath. How could he not, after walking past the picture every day for three years? He reached and tugged the frame off of the wall, then gently brushed the grime off. In the middle was his younger self with an arm casually slung across Tsuna's shoulders, grinning widely at the camera. Gokudera somehow looked half like he was about to punch Yamamoto's guts out for being so intimate with their boss and half like a puppy worshiping his master Tsuna. Lambo was clutching Tsuna's leg glancing warily at Mukuro while I-pin was whacking him upside the head with a lollipop. Ryohei was pumping both his fists in the air, caught in the middle of shouting 'extreme'. Chrome was standing shyly off the the side, Mukuro beside her in a protective manner while mischief danced in his eyes. Hibari could be seen the the background leaning against a telephone pole, a yellow fluffball perched on his head. Kyoko and Haru were giggling at the guys, and Bianchi was watching fondly over them all. Reborn, still a kid back then, was caught in mid-air, aiming a kick at his student's head. Tsuna had a frantic look about him, but a resigned smile tugged at the corners of his lips and his eyes were gleaming with peace and mirth. The three of them– Tsuna, Gokudera, and Yamamoto– were in their graduation gowns, celebrating their middle school graduation.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him, a painful yet joyous reminder of the days when all was simple, when he could still live a normal teenage life, when all had seemed like a mere game. Finally tearing away from the memories, he dusted himself off, stood a little straighter, and finally acknowledged Hibari. "Haha, do you know what happened here?" His laugh sounded weak to his own ears.

Hibari was still watching him intently, but his steel-gray eyes were less piercing than before. "Look behind you, herbivore."

Yamamoto followed Hibari's gesture and glanced at the fridge. He didn't know how he had missed it before, but Yamamoto this time he spotted a stark white slip of paper, conspicuously flapping against the charred gray appliance. It was a note scribbled with a time and place and a demand to go alone.

"Ara?" Yamamoto frowned at the note. "This is my dad's handwriting."

"Ho," Hibari seemed to contemplate the fact.

The unease he felt was growing by the minute. They– whoever they were– had been able to coerce his dad into leaving him a note. The fact that they had even managed to capture his experienced swordsman of a dad was a testament to their skill, but surely it must have taken much more than simple persuasion and brute force to get his stubborn old man to do as they wanted. But he tucked that worry in the back of his mind as well. As he spoke again, he made sure his smile didn't falter. "Could you do me one more favor, Hibari-san?"

Hibari raised an eyebrow– a noncommittal answer.

"If you could start repairing the shop…" _It would make Dad happy when he comes back._ "...maybe you can find some more clues. I'm going to ask around the neighborhood to see if anyone knows anything else."

Hibari grunted, which Yamamoto took as Hibari-speak for 'sure thing.' Yamamoto trusted that the members of Hibari's Disciplinary Committee would do a fine job and return the shop to as good as new.

He took one last survey of the place that once and still was his home. When he turned around to address Hibari again, he only saw a patch of red on black disappearing behind a corner."Thanks, Hibari-san!" he called out, knowing that he was still within hearing range.

He was answered by the empty silence.

* * *

 _Chapter 2: Players and Characters_

* * *

"I'm done now, Niccolo. And we still have two hours to before the _real_ game starts!" His boss held up an elaborate drawing between his fleshy fingers for him to see.

Niccolo took the map and looked it through, knowing already that it would be flawless. "I shall contact the others to execute your plan."

"Yay! Now it's breakfast time! I want an omelette. Rice everyday is too _bor_ -ing."

"Yes, sir. But you should get dressed first." His lips quirked in amusement at his boss's duck pajamas. The small pout on his boss's face made him look like a sullen duckling himself.

"Hmph. You can't order me around. I'm the boss." He thought he heard his boss murmur something about how ducks were cute yet deceptively evil, but he dismissed it as fatigued ramblings after pulling an all-nighter– the less sleep his boss got, the more childish he acted.

"Yes, sir. As you wish." He bowed and exited the room.

* * *

Hibari waited for Yamamoto by the remains of Takesushi. They had exactly 28 minutes before the deadline and it would take at least 20 minutes to reach their destination- even more with all of the morning crowding. Finally, after another minute had elapsed, he saw Yamamoto jog over from the direction of the park. He took in the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and the long bag slung over his shoulder and deduced that the Rain must have been practicing his kata. Probably to keep his anxieties at bay– he knew the Rain had them, no matter how much he tried hide them behind a smile– similar to Hibari fought to maintain a mind-numbing sense of pleasure. The rush of blood and adrenaline would push all other thoughts away.

So he brandished his tonfas and swung at Yamamoto. He was blocked mid-swing by a sword, but immediately lashed a side kick to the stomach.

"Oof, what was that for, Hibari-san?" A grin spread across Yamamoto's face as he rubbed his stomach, sword sheathed again in an instant. The kick should have sent him flying at least a few meters, but he somehow managed to avoid the brunt of it with a single backward step.

"I said don't be late again." Hibari scowled.

"Maa, Hibari-san. If we fight now, I'll be late to the rendezvous." Hibari's mouth further twisted at the 'I.'

"A herbivore must follow after a carnivore." Though for the past ten years he had privately acknowledged the Rain Guardian as something above a measly herbivore, Hibari had been requested by Sawada Tsunayoshi to go along in case anything happened.

"Mm," he considered it for a moment. "Just don't let them see you."

"Hmph." Like Hibari would ever let that happen.

An explosion went off a few blocks away. Hibari narrowed his eyes– it was coming from the direction of Namimori Middle School.

Yamamoto must have come to the same conclusion, as his face had paled a shade and his smile was replaced with a grim expression of disbelief. "But there are children there," he murmured. Ten years in the mafia had taught Yamamoto, and all of the Guardians, about the cruelty of the world, but Yamamoto's innate naivety still shone through at times. However, he quickly snapped out of it and gave Hibari a wry smile.

"Guess that solves it then. I'll go ahead and you can catch up when you're done." With a backwards wave at Hibari, he bounded off toward his– _their_ – destination.

Deciding that the not-quite herbivore could take care of himself, Hibari headed in the direction of the explosion to bite to death whoever had dared to disturb the peace of Namimori and hurt the small animals he had taken under his wing.

* * *

The first thing he registered was the cold. There was nothing but the burning cold, radiating from within him, pulsing ice through his veins.

Then there was the smell. A rotten, salty smell. Fish, dead fish. Not the freshly killed fish of his beloved Takesushi, but a stench of fish long dead and forgotten. He wondered mutely if he'd end up the same way.

Then he registered the voices:

"...coming?" "...way here…" "now… bored waiting…" "...soon"

One voice was deep, almost as deep as his own. The other sounded more mature, though his vowels sounded off. Vowels. Italian. The two were speaking Italian. He picked up enough of it through his groggy mind to understand that someone was coming. Takeshi? But his son was still in Italy, involved in a mafia life of his own with that Tsuna kid. He just hoped his boy was safe. And that he wouldn't worry too much about his dad– he knew his son would be worried even if he wouldn't show it– when he found out about his dad's pitiful situation.

And that brought back a surge of memories.

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi had just closed shop after a slow night and was wiping the counters down when he found himself ducking to avoid a bullet to the shoulder. The sudden movement was harsh on his old knees, but he managed to throw one of his kitchen knives toward the window where he estimated the hitman was. He heard a dull thud, but before he could confirm the man's status, he had to parry another bullet. No, they weren't bullets. They were thin darts, probably coated with poison for a deceptively natural death. A second hitman had entered through the doorway, causing the bells to jingle a grisly welcome. He was young– perhaps in his early twenties– and immaculately dressed in an expensive looking suit. But something in the man's expression told him that he was only a small fry, someone who had no chance of taking a professional swordsman, even an old one like him. In a single movement, he had the hitman pressed against the wall with a fruit knife at the throat. But the desperate fear he saw in the man's eyes– he was probably regretting all the bribes he had made to get into the mafia– made him loosen his grip, and he nodded toward the door. The man slid to the ground and hastily scrambled away toward the door and hopefully toward a new life.

An ominous beep held them both in place. Suddenly, an explosion shook the shop, almost causing Tsuyoshi to lose his footing. He spun with renewed fury at the hitman before him, but the surprise and betrayal in his eyes told him that the man hadn't been expecting the bombing either.

Another explosion. Tsuyoshi quickly shoved the frightened youngster under the counter. But as he was about to crawl under to join the man, his head burst with pain– a searing supernova at the back of his skull. He raised a hand behind his head and it came away stained in red. He dimly figured that he had been hit by a fragment of plaster. But before he could do anything else, he felt a cold sting in the back of his neck, and the world went dark.

And the world was still dark. He wasn't sure if he was blinded or if the room wasn't well lit or both. As blood replaced the ice in his body, he realized that the cold was coming from the room, pressing in on him, seeping through his clothes. The only heat he felt was from his wrists, rubbed raw by the rope that bound them together. His attempts to wriggle out of the bonds only brought more friction and more pain. His feet too were bound by the same intricate knots.

Unfortunately, his struggles had attracted the notice of his captors. He could vaguely make out their outlines, meaning that he thankfully still had his sight. But no matter how many times he tried to blink the blurry shapes into focus, they remained just that– fuzzy blobs that moved and spoke. He must have either gotten a concussion, or the drug– not poison as he had initially thought– from the darts was still in effect. He closed his eyes and instead tried to concentrated on their exchange.

"He's awake! Does that mean we can start soon?" said the one with the deeper voice.

 _Start what?_ he wondered.

"No, sir." The other one, the nasally one, said patiently. This one's voice was softer, but reminded Tsuyoshi of a narcissistic mule he had met once on his journey through the countryside of Italy– there was an undercurrent of ambition and a strong pride in this one. "The other player has yet to arrive."

"Hmph. But you said we could start soon after he woke up!" He sensed a finger pointed in his direction.

"That is true, sir. It hasn't even been a minute since he woke up." Something ticked– a watch? No, it sounded too close to be a watch. His pounding heart? Yes, more likely. He had a suffocatingly bad feeling about the situation– almost as bad as when his wife had disappeared that day. He just prayed that he wouldn't lose his Takeshi this time. "There are still 20 sec–"

The second man was cut off by a resounding crash and a wave of light that penetrated through even Tsuyoshi's closed eyelids.

He slowly blinked open his eyes; squinting against the morning glare, he could make out a shadow wielding a sword that reflected the beams of sunlight.

Then he heard it. The voice belonged to the one he longed to see, the one he wished was furthest from this dangerous place, the one he prayed would be safe day after day.

"Sorry, am I late?" He mentally groaned. _Baka-Takeshi. Can you not even be on time to save your dad?_

Then their eyes met, father and son, and Takeshi's casual, ostensibly oblivious grin thinned, sharper than even the blade of Shigure Kintoki. When he spoke again, his tone was still light, but his words were clipped with a fury he reserved for those few who had managed to truly upset him.

"Hi Dad! I see you've been keeping some pleasant company!"

* * *

Tsuna yawned and stretched his cramped muscles after finishing another day's paperwork. A brief glance at the clock told him he had four hours to sleep before his meeting _(who schedules meetings for 6AM?)_ with Dino _(apparently the Cavallone do)_ about some business deal or another- he still had to figure that out. He inwardly groaned, but his pragmatic side– better dubbed his 'inner Reborn voice'– decided that it would be better to prepare first, then sleep to refresh himself before the meeting, so he sat back down and stared at the papers before him

After a few minutes or hours– or was it mere seconds?– he was rereading words and paragraphs, the spidery lines crawling over each other.

Something dropped to the floor, making a clatter that startled Tsuna awake. He glanced at the glowing numbers of the clock on his desk– 3:00 AM. After a few false attempts at conversion, he managed to make out that it was 10AM in Japan– the time Yamamoto was to meet with his father's captors.

Tsuna couldn't help but worry for his Rain Guardian– not because he was incapable, but because this was his _dad_ and Yamamoto treasured his dad above all else. He got up and stretched, then remembered the mission file Yamamoto had left behind.

He slid silently through the halls, careful not to wake anyone, especially Gokudera, whose sleep was lighter than a feather. When he arrived outside Yamamoto's room, he slowly creaked open the door and stepped inside.

The room was relatively clean, only a few socks and papers littered the carpet unlike Lambo's, whose floor could not be seen with all the toys and clothes scattered everywhere. The bed was unmade and a manila folder lay on the pillow. Tsuna walked across the room and picked it up– the mission files. He had only glanced at the general description before, saw that it needed diplomatic skills, and passed it off to Yamamoto, who was the most sane– if anyone in the mafia could be considered sane– of his Guardians, though all had mellowed considerably since their middle school days. Now, Tsuna opened the folder and read through the description of the organization– it wasn't exactly a mafia _famiglia_ – they were dealing with.

The organization, Gioco– _Game,_ Tsuna mentally translated– had two core members: the boss, a short, stocky man with a boyish face and dull brown eyes called Piero Faustini and the second-in-command, a tall, slender man with a sharp nose and steely green eyes named Niccolo Serpe. The two looked so different– one all fleshy curves and the other sharp, protruding angles– yet a certain glint in their eyes, the slight forward lean of their bodies, made Tsuna think that they had more in common than met the eye– a common, malicious goal that would engender harm to Vongola and those he cared about.

But there was more– a tug of his Hyper Intuition told him that he was missing something, something vital. But before he could explore the meaning of his sixth sense, he was slammed with a headache worse than Reborn's ten-ton hammer. The night's exhaustion, as well as his previous sleepless nights, had finally caught up to him.

So he collapsed in Yamamoto's bed and prayed. Prayed that Yamamoto and his dad were safe and that Hibari was watching over them from a distance and that he would find someone else to meet with Gioco organization– maybe Ryohei as he'd said earlier– and that tomorrow's meeting with Dino would go well and, lastly, that his headache would go away. And with a million and one worries swimming around his head, the Vongola Decimo fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

A/N: Hehe, not really Yamamoto-centric as I'd promised (though he did show up quite a bit), but I hope you enjoyed all of the characters and the longer chapter.

Are any of the characters– especially Yamamoto– too OOC? Imagining their future selves is fun, yet so difficult...

(And poor, over-worked Tsuna)


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